


Yarusenai

by cadkitten



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Angst, Cumshot, Cutting, Explicit Language, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is cruel. Fate is worse. And death is reprieve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt[s]: “The Japanese have words for sadness that are so subtle and complicated that the English translations don't do them justice.
> 
>  _Setsunai_ is usually translated as "sad," but it is better described as a feeling of sadness and loneliness so powerful that it feels as if your chest is constricted, as if you can't breathe; a sadness that is physical and tangible. There is another word, too - _yarusenai_ , which is grief or loneliness so strong that you can't get rid of it, you can't clear it away.
> 
> There are some things like that. You get older and you forget about them, but every time you remember, you feel that yarusenai. It never goes away, it just gets tucked away and forgotten for a while.” - From Tokyo Vice by Jake Adelstein
> 
> “The reason of my existence inside of someone” - Kyo from HnG
> 
> “The emptiness of compensating” - Ware Yami Tote…  
> Beta Readers: gothic_hime  
> Song[s]: “Ware yami tote…” by Dir en grey (Remastered Version), The Unforgiven (I, II, III) by Metallica

_The emptiness of compensating._ It will rip you apart if you let it, tear you up from the inside out and leave nothing but a shell of a man behind. There’s something about time that both heals and does not. Time will let you forget. Time will let you pretend like the past could have been different. But when you remember, when you allow your brain to take that journey back to those frozen moments within, you realize time is just as cruel.

But looking back, it’s impossible not to realize that what happened was no one’s fault but my own. Turning my head towards a time long gone, I’m provided with the infinite truth of looking back on a situation. It’s like 20/20 vision looking behind when in front you can’t see a thing at all. But maybe that’s to learn, to allow us as humans to grow and move forward. Though, sometimes you have to wonder if it’s not just some cruel joke invented by those of higher power than us. To watch us remember our mistakes and cry over them as though they were the freshest of wounds. To see us stumble and fall all because of that one moment in the past that we’ll never be able to correct. And maybe… maybe that is why I stopped believing.

Life is cruel. Fate is worse. And death is reprieve. The part that pulls at me is that within the bounds of this society, death is not readily available. Doing so oneself is frowned upon. Finding another to do it for you is equally as bad; a stain upon the other’s soul, a life ruined before it stumbled forward to completion. Perhaps this is what injustice looks like. _Vinushka_ : guilt and sin.

But even as I reflect, I realize there’s nothing left here for me. I’ve watched the world turn toward something that doesn’t include me anymore. The few I care about have faded away, gone upon their own paths, veering severely from my own, passing through life in a whole other world from my own.

I could pick up this knife and end it all, but then I’d be unforgiven. Instead I remain, this shell of the man I used to be. I allow the emotion to fall upon me in the way only I can best understand. And when I close my eyes, I let myself pretend. You’re here beside me, holding me… just a hand upon my shoulder to steady me. Your words upon the air, that soft laugh you would always offer to only me. And with that comes first the flutter of my heart, the memory sweet as honey dripped on my tongue. But memories are never nice for long. They are the cruel mistress of the tortured. As if to prove it, comes the one thing I never want to remember. Your back is turned to me as I watch you walk away. I see you get on that train and the door slides closed. You never looked back. Not even once, not so much as a turn of your head, even as the tears consumed me and my legs failed to hold me any longer, only the wall behind me providing the support such limbs should have done. And with that comes the pain, the sadness, the loneliness that could only be born from the heart. _Setsunai_ : loneliness and sadness so powerful that it becomes physical… tangible.

The pen hits the paper, leaving the half written letter behind. It won’t be the first time and surely it will never be the last. A letter started in hopes of finding the end of the pain. A letter to those who remain. And yet… unfinished. Thus it will always end up, something I can never complete, even in the most agonizing of memories, I can’t find it truly within me.

My steps carry me out onto the balcony. A single light flares in the darkness. Not even a single star shines in this sky tonight. A chilly wind picks up my once-again blonde hair and my eyelids slip closed as I allow myself another memory. Or maybe I should call it another torture. That would be truer to the existence of it all, perhaps.

Your fingers run through my hair, gently caressing. The sweat on my forehead doesn’t even seem to bother you. I’m on fire, boiling from the inside out, my temperature through the roof. And you think I’m well past thinking coherently… well past remembering. I can see it in your eyes when I look up at you that you’re sure I’m delirious. For the smallest moment, your lips touch my forehead, your hand holding my bangs back, and your breath cool on my skin. But then you’re gone again, your back turned to me as you walk away. This time, you turn to look back before you exit the room. You always looked back… always… until that last time. Until you betrayed me.

Tears streak down my cheeks, warm little trails as they trace the contours of my face; a tiny path from the corner of my eye, down my cheek, over my lips, and then down my neck to spread into the fabric of my shirt. I don’t stop them. I have long since given up stopping them when I think of you. Maybe a grown man shouldn’t cry, maybe a grown man shouldn’t see things in this way. But you always helped me see the light in things. And now you’re gone. You’ve been gone for years now, and in your wake I’ve lost touch with so much of reality… and so much of myself. In this, you’ve given me an agony I can’t quite escape, a sorrow so great it’ll never die. _Yarusenai._

I drop the cigarette to the ground, untouched since the first light of it flared into existence some minutes before. The dampness claims it, extinguishing the only flame remaining in the night. And as I turn away from the balcony, I wonder… how would it be if I could fly? Could I leave the world behind without a care? Would you find out and maybe come back to show me in those last moments that you could look back upon me one last time? Or maybe you’d find out months down the line, write a note of condolence and then find you had no one to send it to. My lines of contact are so small. My parents long since claimed by death, my sister far away, her address unknown to even those who love her. I’m alone; truly and honestly, alone.

At long last, I wipe the tears from my cheeks and as I’ve always done when this hits me, I sit back down by the letter and I find my phone. I pull up your number on the screen, the number that has long since been disconnected, and I stare at it in a way that could only be described as longing. Why did you never tell me where you went? What did I do to you that made it so difficult for you to even come back once? Not a picture or a letter or a phone call. Was I nothing to you? Did all those years mean nothing in the end? Was I just the vocalist in your band to you?

An old urge bubbles up, something I can’t quite contain and I find myself on my feet. One foot in front of the other, leading me toward the room I should best avoid for the time being. But I push the door open anyway, my phone slipping from my fingers, falling with a dull thump to the floor as I make my way into the darkness and grasp the object of my desires simply by memory alone. The leather seat creaks beneath me as I settle. The smooth paint slides over my jeans as I move the object into my arms. I cradle the neck in one hand, my other slipping a pick free of the strings. My form hunches over a guitar perhaps too big for me – though it seems to fit me like a glove in these moments – and I begin the one thing you ever taught me. As the notes cry out into the night, I close my eyes again and allow myself the memory of that time, finding myself thankful you forgot… that you left this behind and I was the only one left to call when it came time to pick it up. Sometimes I can allow myself to think I can still feel you here with me when I play. And sometimes nothing but emptiness surrounds me, pulling at my soul in the most dreadful of manners.

Tonight, you grace me with your presence. I can almost feel the whisper of your hands over my own, correcting me gently. And when I open my eyes, I can see a ghost of you, that smile on your lips as you offer me the advice, telling me I could be as good as you one day if only I have the right teacher. Of course, you meant yourself. You’ve always been an arrogant son of a bitch. But that never stopped me from l-

The memory evaporates and I somehow manage to choke myself on the air that I’m breathing. My throat constricts and tears sting at the back of my eyes. I place your guitar away and bury my face in my trembling hands, trying to tide the storm of emotion rising up inside me. I can’t even admit it to myself. To admit what I feel would be to admit the impossible. To feel what I do is already too much.

My feet find their own way from the room, my fingers picking up my cell phone from the ground as I close the door behind myself. That room I never open but on these nights, on these times I cannot stop. The click of the latch is so final. It’s like the whoosh of the train doors as they closed behind you and you stood with your back to me, never even glancing toward me as you left me all alone.

The air comes back to me all at once, a rush of oxygen into my lungs that I hadn’t expected. Even with the fresh pain burning inside me, I feel as though I can see the light at the end of this absurd tunnel. My steps lead me to the window, my hand pressing to the glass. The sun is slipping up over the horizon, a new day beginning, bringing me with it. And even as my heart breaks again, I find that I’m able to accept it again. _Hinnahme_ : acceptance of one’s fate, of the inevitable.

And with this frail heart, I wait. I wait for things that will never come. I wait for the world to end this tragedy. I wait for you.

**To be continued…**  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is cruel. Fate is worse. And death is reprieve.

_I carve into my heart the sins, and I live on dying._ The words I used so long ago feel as though they are truth for the first time since I wrote them. No matter the lows I have sunk to, no matter the pain in my heart, I’ve endured. But if truth be told, I’ve been in this snare of my own creation for months now. Maybe it’s been years… maybe I can no longer see the passage of time for what it truly is. Unsurprising, really, given how little I actually leave the house.

I’ve become that neighbor that people whisper about each time they pass. I’m the ‘hermit’ that lives down the hall. But the truth of the matter is they only need open their eyes to see when I do leave. Like clockwork, once a week to get food and other necessities. One can only stay holed up so long. And once a night to smoke a cigarette on my balcony. But it is maybe too late at night when I do such things for people to realize I leave at all. Not that it matters to me in the least, but I can hear them sometimes, standing outside my door and whispering. In some perverse little way… I have to admit it does affect me, even though I don’t care.

Tonight is one such night. I need to leave to get food. All I have left in the house is some Earl Grey and a few packets of sugar. The supply of incense is running low, too. Even in all my perversities, I still need that one comfort of meditation. It’s the only place I escape myself without inflicting the age-old harm that I’ve grown to despise.

I take a probably much-needed shower, the water flowing over my body as I lean against the wall, palms pressed to it, my eyes staring sightlessly at the ground beneath me. The memories well up inside me for the first time in over a week and I find I cannot stop them this time. It comes and slowly stains my heart. The sound of your laughter seems to fill the room, a high-pitched laugh that I always found myself smiling along with, even when I was the target of your joke. A shiver runs through me as I close my eyes and behind them I see you grinning at me as you make your way across the room, stopping so close inside my personal bubble, and then your hand comes out and ruffles through my hair. Without a word, you walk away, glancing over your shoulder as you go, shooting me glances I never could figure out.

You were always an odd one, living in your own world about as much as me. Sometimes your actions screamed the truth and sometimes they just confused me. That night… you confused me. Those looks, your actions, they all were so clouded in my mind that I couldn’t ever come up with a reason for them. And perhaps, that was half of your charm.

Finally, I move, going through the motions of my shower, making sure I’m clean from head to toe before I get out. The towel is soft around me and I bury my face in it, another memory bubbling up. Your arms around me, drying me off from the pouring rain I just rushed through to get to your apartment. You’re laughing and I’m not. To me, it’s not funny. You scared me half to death in the middle of the night and I ran eight blocks to your house, only to find you were drunker than shit, texting nonsense to anyone who’d listen. I was livid. But then you touched me and it lit me on fire.

Heat shoots through me and I yank my face from the towel, shoving the offending object away from me as I make my way to the bedroom to pick out some clean clothing. I cannot allow such things to possess me this time. It’s been months since I’ve allowed myself such a reaction and I’m not about to let myself this time. Because it always ends the same way; the same painful way. Not once since you’ve left have I found my end without the pain of your betrayal attaching itself to me like a vice around my heart. And today, I’m not in the mood.

I pick out a simple pair of black jeans and a worn band t-shirt. My jacket is added over the whole thing and my boots upon my feet. And when I leave with my four bags to fill, I don’t even lock my door. Some small part of me wants to come home to nothing or to come home to my problem being solved with a gun in my face. And it seems whenever I leave, I give fate and fortune the chance. Though, the only thing I’ve ever gained for it was someone snooping through my things.

My steps carry me out of my building and down the street to the only market that is open this late at night. They are used to me by now. No one bothers me, no one even talks to me until I’m at the register with my bags full of groceries and necessities. It’s always the same old woman with the gentle eyes and the shaking hands. At some point in my life, I would have been frustrated by the time she takes in ringing up my items and repacking them in the bags. But some small part of me thinks maybe she takes her time because she knows I need to stay out longer than just the few minutes it takes me to pick up the same things each week.

She’s particularly slow tonight, asking her usual few questions. “Find everything okay?” she asks and I simply nod. “Doing alright tonight?” And again, I start to nod. But then I give her an odd sort of look, shrug instead, and look at the ground, my hands shoved in my pockets. Why don’t I just tell her it’s okay? That I’m fine like I always do. It’s such an easy lie. And yet, tonight… I can’t bring myself to do it.

“What is it?” she asks, seeming to slow down even more.

I find my voice finally, the sound of it rough from disuse. “There’s nothing left,” I tell her simply. And when I glance up, she’s giving me a perplexed little look, so I clarify. “Nothing left for me to live for.” I give a slight shrug and she stops what she’s doing, reaching one hand out to touch my shoulder.

“Sure there is. You make a difference even if you don’t know you do. You know… last week, you did not come. I worried myself sick over you. But here you are.” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “If you didn’t come next week, I don’t know what I’d do.”

I study her for a long few moments, not saying a word, just wondering how truthful her words are, seeing if she looks away. But she doesn’t even flinch, just meets my eyes with a steady resolve. I sigh and look away finally. “I’m just a customer.”

“Bullshit.” The word coming out so forcefully from such a kind-looking old woman is a bit shocking, causing me to look back up. “You think no one knows who you are anymore,” she gives a pause and then glances around before letting out, “Kyo.” She goes back to scanning my groceries. “But you are wrong. My daughter still knows who you are and she wonders where you went off to. Why no one hears a thing about you. Do you know how many people you would break if you… didn’t show up one week?”

I could tell she was using those words as a euphemism for what she actually meant. Swallowing slightly, I gave a little shrug. “Even so… I doubt it’d be news.”

“I don’t like telling people what to do. But whatever’s bothering you… fix it.” She finished up with my total and held out her hand, not even asking for the amount, because I knew it by heart. I handed it over in exact change and she reached over, plucking a candy bar from the stand next to her, tossing it on the top of my bag. “On me… for a brighter day. Now you show up next week. You hear?”

I just watched her, staring at the candy bar she’d given me. It was one of your favorite, the kind you used to share with me, and it almost brought tears to my eyes right there. But she didn’t know that. So instead, I thanked her and took my bags, going back to my apartment to hole myself away for another week.

I put everything away almost meticulously, each thing having an exact place because I always bought the same items. But when I was done, there were two things left on my table that I had no place for. That damned candy bar and a single red lighter. I couldn’t remember picking up the lighter, but maybe in my aimless wandering of the store, I picked it up. I examined my receipt, finding no mention of the item on there at all and finally, I just plopped down in the chair, pushing the bags I’d used aside and staring at the two things on the table. My fingers reached for the lighter first, picking it up and turning it over in my hands. It looked worn, used. I flicked it and it came to life, sparking a memory so visceral the lighter clattered to the table.

You stood there in front of me, grinning like a fool as you lit your cigarette and then tossed the lighter to me. I caught it, looking down at it and seeing the smooth red casing. It was just a cheap lighter, one you could get anywhere, but when I looked closer at it, I could see you’d scratched a small D into the bottom of it. “Fuckers always stealing my lighters,” you told me, a laugh coming just after. I used it to light my own and went to hand it back. You took it, stared at it for a moment and then tossed it into my shopping bag. “Keep it.”

The memory shuts off about as fast as it came on, leaving me shaking as I pick up the lighter, turning it over to see that D scratched there. A soft sob leaves me as I bring it closer to my chest, cradling it there as I bow my head, willing myself not to get like this again. Not now. Not today. Especially not today.

I push myself up and snatch the stupid candy bar, making my way through the dimly lit house and into the living room, where I curl up on the sofa. With shaking hands, I eat exactly half of the candy bar, placing the other half on the table next to me. And for hours, I sit, contemplating nothing and everything at the same time, trying so hard to get away from the hell that is my own memories.

At long last, the clock in the corner chimes, letting me know a new day has begun and I breathe out a sigh of relief. My birthday has passed me by, another year gone with my life still intact. My fingers absently flick the lighter in my hands, the flame appearing and then disappearing when I let go of the little lever. You’d have told me to stop, that I was wasting the fluid. And I suppose I should. This was your fluid. _Your_ lighter. But I can’t bring myself to do it, needing the distraction in the physical realm.

The hours pass me by and at long last, I peel myself up off the couch to go and find something more than half a candy bar to eat. One noodle bowl in the microwave and then I’m sitting at the table, eating with one hand and flicking the lighter with the other. It takes me a few minutes to realize it has no more fluid, the flick doing nothing to it at all. And at long last, I slip it into my pocket, moving to finish my food and then wash my dishes.

My feet take me toward the bedroom and I strip myself with shaking hands, crawling into bed and curling up under the covers, staring off into the darkness. Old habits tempt me, even in the darkness. I can’t think of anything else for those long few minutes I lay there, the urge overpowering all else. My fingers curl against my chest and I let out a huff of a breath as they tear at my skin, ripping me open. Even as my blood pours out over my fingers, I know I’m doing it because of you. It’s my way of compensating for the fact that you’re not here. It’s my way of dealing with this pain you’ve left me with. I haven’t done it over a year, but I allow myself this time because I can’t find another way to stop the shaking.

With the third time, comes the relief, the numbness of my mind flooding over me. My muscles relax and the tears finally streak down my face, though they are silent and only filled with the liberation of doing such a thing. The coppery scent of blood is on the air and I find myself finally drifting through that sea of silence, all of my thoughts fleeting and distant.

By the time reality comes crashing back down on me, I find that I’m okay with it. The dried blood on my chest and my hand is only a remnant of my peace. My phone vibrates on the dresser, a soft twittering sound letting me know I have a new email. Probably junk mail, but I check it anyway, reaching for the small device and turning it on, opening the email client and selecting the new message without much thought to it.

The first words of the letter give me the chills, my entire body wracked with it.

_Kyo,_

_I wish this wasn’t the truth, but this is the last time I’m going to try this. This is my last resort. I’ve written over and over and all of my letters have been returned, unopened. I’ve called until your number was disconnected. And finally, I dug up an old notebook and you’d given me this address. I can only hope maybe you still check it, as vain as that hope may be._

_I don’t know if you’ll ever see it, but I need to tell you some things because I haven’t managed. Even in all those letters I sent, I never once told you. But… I miss you. I think of you often and when I do, it honestly hurts. I check the newspapers daily and always in fear that I’ll find an article I never wanted to. I can only hope I’m wrong on that… that somewhere, you’re still out there, living a wonderful life._

_I guess you wanted to get off the radar. I went to your mother’s funeral… what was it? Two years ago now? I stayed for the entire thing and you weren’t there at all. Hell, once a month, I even visit her grave and leave her fresh flowers. Though, if I’m honest, I check to see if that plot beside hers is ever filled. I fear that day like you wouldn’t believe._

_But I’m rambling again and by now, if you have gotten this, you’ll think me mental. I guess… more to the point, then. I hope you get this and I hope you’ll write me back or call me._

_Oh… and happy birthday._

_Die_

At the bottom, you’ve included your contact information and by the time I’m done reading it, I’m in tears. I can barely see the screen my hands are shaking so badly, the tears obscuring my vision. But somehow, I manage to hit the numbers at the bottom, my phone automatically dialing them. I press the phone to my ear, uncertainty filling me, part of me wondering if this is a joke.

Hope flutters in me like an impatient moth on the window. And when you answer, I feel as though I will fall apart. My voice cracks as I try to talk to you, a hopeless little sound of your name leaving my lips. “Die?”

For a moment you say nothing and then quietly, your voice laced with so much hope that it almost burns me. “Kyo?” Is this disbelief I hear in your voice, the same as in mine? Have you been waiting on this just as I have? For just as long?

“I… I got your message.” I manage to get the words out, finding myself at a loss for anything more than that.

“I was hoping you would. I… well… so… how have you been?” So awkward, even now, all these years later and you’re just as I remember you to be.

My breath catches at the question and I find myself unable to actually answer you. I want to tell you I’ve been okay. But that’s not the truth and I never made a habit of lying to you. Finally, I manage to mumble out, “Not good. You?”

Your breath whispers across the line, a simple huff of it letting me know you had been holding it. “Eventful.” You leave it at that for the time being. And then without warning, “Are you still living in Tokyo?”

I nod and then realize you can’t see that. “I am.” I don’t ask where you’re at. That’d be getting my hopes too high.

“I um… I am, too.” You sound awkward again, like you think I’m going to be mad at you or something. “Can… can I see you?”

For a moment, it feels as though my heart stops beating. You want to see me? Even after you walked away like you did? Even after you never looked back? And you still want to see me? But I find myself talking as though my mouth is powered by some different part of my brain than that part I’m currently using to ponder this. I provide you with my address and before I can even get anything more out, you're gone, the line dead.

For a good ten minutes, I lie there, staring at the darkened screen of my phone, wondering about what’s happening. Finally, I sit up in bed and dare to turn on the lamp on my bedside table. I find that all of my sins are scattered across the room. A blade here, an empty bottle there, my half-written letters are everywhere. And there on my wall the kanji I wrote in my own blood. _Yarusenai._

My own blood stains the sheets and my skin, tainting me. The tears are dried upon my cheeks, a betrayal of my feelings. Without hesitation, I go to the bathroom, making myself a bit more presentable. I think about getting rid of the evidence, but that seems pointless. Besides, I don’t even know that you’re coming over. After all, it is two in the morning and no rational person does such a thing.

Almost an hour goes by and I get myself dressed and then drag myself to the living room, settling down there. I find myself somewhere between wakefulness and sleep by the time I hear a hesitant knock on my door. It’s so light, I almost miss it. But I rush to the door, stopping just short of running into it, my entire being filled with hope. Opening the door, I find you standing there and the world as I know it shatters into a million pieces. Tears prick my eyes and even as I move back to let you in, I find that I’m already trembling. You’ll know… you’ll know something is very wrong, but I can’t stop myself from this reaction. The one person I couldn’t let go of, the one being on the entire planet I put my heart out for, is now standing in my home, back in my life. And I can’t keep such a thing from affecting me in such a harsh way.

You push the door shut behind you and before I can even deliberate trying to pull myself together, your arms are around me, holding me to your chest. I don’t even hesitate, my arms wrapping around your waist, my face buried in your shoulder as the tears let go. One of your hands comes to thread through my hair, gentle and caressing, the touch so familiar and yet so distant. I’m blind with emotion, my entire body conflicted with it. I’m angry at you for being away so long. I’m so happy you’re here that I can’t even begin to contain how hard I’m shaking. Being so close to you is pulling reactions out of my body that I’ve long since refused to let happen. And your hand in my hair is making me think of those silly romance books we once caught Shinya reading so long ago.

I catch myself just before I give in to everything, restraining it with the realization that you have no inkling of anything that’s been going on with me. You can’t know how much I’ve missed you. You can’t possibly know how much I loved you. No… how much I _love_ you. Slowly, I back away, hitting the wall behind me to keep me upright, trying desperately to steady my breathing.

I open my mouth to tell you how much I’ve missed you, to tell you I’m so glad to have you back in my life, to tell you I want you to stay. And what comes out isn’t any of that. Instead, I hear myself accusing. “You left me. You didn’t even turn around. You just let me there.” The moment the words are out, I feel like my world is breaking for the billionth time. I watch your face crumble, I watch the pain come to reflect so clearly in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Kyo. I know it’ll never help. But I’m sorry. I couldn’t look back.” You push your hair back from your face and I see so clearly the absolute pain reflected there. “I don’t do goodbyes.”

Again my voice betrays me, saying what it wants to say while I frantically claw the inside of my brain, telling myself not to do it, not to say it. “Even for me?”

You shake your head. “Especially for you.” The whisper of a sigh leaves your lips and I want nothing more than to reach out and touch you, to make sure you’re real again, to wipe that pain from your eyes, even though I know I’m the one causing it. Your voice wavers a little as you speak again. “Do you think I didn’t look back because I didn’t care?”

I give a tiny nod, even as I do, knowing you’re going to tell me that’s not the truth, that I’ve been believing in a lie.

“Idiot,” you whisper, moving toward me and putting your hands on either side of my head, leaning down so I can look at you clearly. “I couldn’t look back because I didn’t want you to see me cry. Out of everyone, you were the one it was hardest to leave.”

My heart breaks even more, the crack going deeper than ever before and I let out the sob before I can stop it. The tears don’t come, but the desperate feeling, the pain inside me does three fold. Before I can catch what I’m doing, I reach for you, my hands tangling in your hair, pulling you down to my level, my mouth pressing harshly against yours. It isn’t a nice kiss, it’s harsh and filled with pain and I think you understand why I’m doing it because you don’t even flinch. When I release you, I shove you back from me and just shake my head, letting out a shuddering little sigh and turning my head away.

You don’t say a word, you just move back, reaching to take my wrist and pull me along with you to the living room. Once we’re in there, I stand awkwardly by the couch and then mumble out, “I… I have beer, you want one?” I always buy one bottle, each time. Just one. I guess I’ve been waiting on you for years and it’s my way of being prepared for you.

But you shake your head and pat the seat next to you. “I don’t drink anymore.” You shift a little and reach into your pocket, pulling out a small coin and flipping it to me. It has a large 2 written across it and you give me a rueful little smile. “Rehab. I haven’t drank in about two and a half years now. Not even a drop.”

My eyes widen as I stare down at the little coin. I never thought you could do it. It was the one thing I would have laughed at you for even trying because it was always your crutch. The alcohol always took your pain away, the way that hurting myself takes mine from me. But I’m proud of you. So proud you could do this. I hand it back to you and sit down next to you on the couch. “Good. I’m glad.”

You nod a little and tuck it back in your pocket. “Yeah… I sort of turned my life upside down once I left. Went through a lot of shit to get to this point.”

I peer at you curiously from under my bangs and study your face in the semi-darkness. “How so?”

You let out a little sigh and then sit back, crossing one leg over the other, your head tilting back, exposing your neck. “I would go to clubs at least twice a week and I’d always get completely smashed. And usually I’d,” you give me this little sheepish look before continuing, “hook up with some random person. So this one night, I’m fucking this girl in the bathroom and when I’m done, I realize the condom broke.” You let out a sound that maybe should have been a laugh, shaking your head. “I give her my number because I don’t want to be that person that doesn’t give her any options, right?” You look over at me, your eyes bright with something I can’t begin to pin down. “And a few weeks later, I get this call…” you trail off.

Helpfully, I supply, “She’s pregnant?”

A slight nod of your head tells me I’m right. “I do the right thing by her and we get married before the baby comes. And I shape up my life. I started rehab because I didn’t want to have a child brought into such an environment, you know?” A soft smile paints your lips and I don’t even question why it’s there. “I’m a dad now. She’s a little over two years old.” You shift, pulling out your phone and fumbling around with it for a minute before holding it out and showing me one of the most adorable photos I’ve ever seen.

Your little girl is clinging to your hair, drooling at the camera and she looks so much like you. She has your eyes and your forehead and even the little odd shape to your lips. There’s no mistaking that this girl is of your flesh and blood. And the look on your face is something perfect. You’ve been caught in mid-laugh, a light in your eyes clearer than ever. I hand the phone back with a soft smile. “She’s gorgeous. What’s her name?”

You look almost embarrassed. “Akane.”

I don’t even bother to contain my laughter, shaking my head and then ducking my head to hide the wide grin on my lips. “Only you would name your child after your favorite color, Die.”

You whack me lightly on the arm and put your phone away. “But… anyway. I guess like… what… almost a year ago, I realized something about myself. For one, I didn’t love Rina. And for two… I figured out what most of the rest of the world probably already knew for years before me.”

I snort a little and offer helpfully. “That you prefer the company of men?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” The tone of your voice lets me know I’m incredibly right about this and you huff out a sigh, your head tilting back again. “So we parted ways. I still have partial custody of Akane and I get her every other week and on half the holidays.” You smile softly. “I think she’s gotten used to it already, moving places and whatnot.”

I nod a little and shift to pull my feet up on the couch, my knees up to my chest. The fact that you have a child makes me happy in some perverse little way. I guess I always wanted to see what a little Die would look like and to know you produced one makes me feel pleasant inside.

You reach out and place a hand on my knee, shaking it ever so gently. “Kyo?”

I shake myself out of my thoughts and peer at you. “Yeah?”

“I asked how you’ve been… what’s different in your life?”

I feel like I’ve been put on the spot in a manner I can’t really condone right then. But I know you don’t mean to do that to me. You just genuinely want to know what I’ve been doing. Finally, I murmur out, “Do you want the truth?”

You give me a slight nod and I take a deep breath, steeling myself and then just spitting it out. “I haven’t done anything useful or new.” I offer that and then feel like it’s a lie. Useful no. But new… new I have done. A hundred half-written letters, a litter of new self-inflictions, my own mental hell. All of this was new the moment you walked away from me. But some part of me doesn’t want to tell you that. “I stay at home most of the time. Leave when I need groceries and stuff like that.” The words feel foreign on my tongue and they taste bad.

The couch creaks as you get up and go to the window, looking out and then turning back to me, studying me. “The truth would be better than the half lie, Kyo. If you can still trust me enough with it.”

I rest my head on my knee, my blonde hair falling to obscure my vision ever so slightly. “I’ve almost killed myself somewhere around six times and I’ve picked up some old habits again that I can’t seem to quit. I’m driving myself insane with my own thoughts, my own memories, and I feel like someone’s ripped me to pieces on the inside.” A nice way of saying you broke my heart. Because I don’t want to tell you that.

Your shadow falls over me and I close my eyes. “How bad are the old habits?”

I shift enough to pull up my shirt and show you the fresh wounds I opened tonight. “Let’s say… tonight was a good night.” I move to let the shirt fall back into place, but your hands intercept the piece of clothing. When I look up, you’re on your knees and your hands are pushing at my clothing as you inspect my handiwork. Heat shoots through me and my body instantly begins to react to your proximity and your actions. Fear is close behind and my fingertips feel heavy, pain spiking from my heart down my arm. Panic. This is the feeling of panic. I push at you and scramble to get my clothing pulled in such a way you can’t see how you’re affecting me.

When I’ve finally settled, you’re sitting on the floor, hands on either side of you and you look purely shocked. “I… I’m sorry?”

I swallow thickly and the remorse comes through me next. I feel like an asshole for having pushed you away like that. But you can’t know how you make me feel. My fingers clench and unclench, trying to rid themselves of the feeling of heaviness. Finally, I trust myself to move. I reach out a hand for you. “I… overreacted. I’m sorry.” For what, you’ll never know.

But you accept my hand and get up from the floor. Before you can sit back down, I take your hand again and pull you with me, toward that room I never open except on those painful nights. But this room is built around my memories and you are a part of those. Somehow it feels right to show them to you. I open the door and walk in, going straight across the dark room to sit down on the leather chair. I hear you shuffle around and then the light flicks on. I wince away from it.

When my eyes finally adjust to the new brightness, I see the look of awe on your face. All around us are the memories. Albums and photos, posters and pamphlets. I even have all the things left behind at the studio. A lone microphone, a few computers and other recording equipment, a crappy old amplifier, boxes of picks that were never used. And my pride and joy, your guitar.

You walk over to me, kneeling down next to it and brushing your fingertips over it. “So this is where it got off to,” you whisper.

I nod a little. “They called me to pick up the rest of the stuff. Everyone left things behind and it all became mine because I was the only one they could contact.” A slight shrug of my shoulders and then I’m staring at the guitar again. “I guess Shinya went straight to the US and Toshiya on some kind of vacation… according to the studio.” I make a face. “Never heard from him again, though not for lack of trying. I’ve contacted all of you guys over and over. But you all moved and changed cell phones. It’s… I got left alone.” My hand comes out and I pick up the guitar, your eyes watching me the entire way. “Left alone with the memories.” The words hold a pain so deep that even your breath catches when I say them.

I settle the guitar in my lap and pull the pick free from the strings, strumming at it in the manner you once taught me. This time the memory doesn’t come back. This time, I stare at you while I do it, watching as your eyes track my fingers over the strings. When I’m done, I push it toward you. “I guess this goes back to you now.”

But you shake your head. “No, Kyo. Now she’s yours. You’ve put so many feelings into her.” You stroke over the side of it, something in your eyes that I can’t read, and you shake your head. “It’d feel wrong anywhere but here.”

I push it toward you again. “At least play it again.”

This, you indulge me with, taking the black beauty from me and cradling it in your arms, taking the pick from me when I hold it out and you start in on a song that I immediately recognize. Almost absently, I slip forward on the seat, sit up straighter and wait on my part. I know I can’t stop myself already, I know that I will sing when it comes to that point and I know that it’s going to break us both.

The lyrics to ‘mushi’ slip freely from my lips, all the years of practice still fitting me like a glove despite how little I allow myself to do it these days. I whisper out the first few lines and when I get to the forth line, I belt it out, not caring what time in the morning it is. My emotions well up inside me, raw and achingly clear in the words as I let them free.

When I pause, you shift slightly, hunching over your guitar and rocking with the beat, your hair hanging in your face, obscuring you from my vision, even in this bright room. You play so hard, so true, not a single note missed, and I almost feel like you’re bringing everything to life. When I come back in, you’re still again, almost reverent and gentle, my voice carrying things once again, and you become an undertone to me.

I find the last lines in me and my heart shatters as I sing them. Tears streak down my face and my voice cracks with the force of emotion rampaging through me. You seem to feel it, your body shifting toward mine ever so slightly and you keep your pace for a few bars before you tear into the guitar with a wrath I’ve never seen before. Everything about you screams frustration and pain, every note is like a dagger straight to my soul. I find that I can’t even begin to breathe, the force of air too little to overcome the choking agony we’ve paired together in this room.

At the end, you stop, panting over your guitar, shoulders heaving. You don’t move, don’t go to put the guitar away and I know I’ve hurt you just as bad as I’ve hurt myself with the force of my feelings in this case. I reach for you, touching your shoulder and whisper out your name, my voice but a sigh. And when you look up at me, tears streaking your beautiful face, I break all over again. Before I can stop myself, I’m on my knees and the guitar is back in its cradle. My arms pull you against me and my hands push into your hair, clinging to you for dear life. Mindlessly, I move, raining kisses over your face and neck, my movements frantic and desperate. I need more than anything to take your pain away, to absorb it into myself and bear it for you. I never, ever meant to share it with you.

You don’t even try to stop me, just letting me have my way, your arms lightly around me. You’re pliant in my hands, nothing seeming too much for you to bear while I lose my mind in your arms. Even when I push you gently back against the wall, climbing over you, you just let me do it. It isn’t until I’m on your lap, thighs tight about your hips, and my lips crushed against yours that you react at all. And when you do, it surprises me beyond belief. Your tongue meets my own and your hands splay on my back, fingertips applying just the right amount of pressure to keep me where I’m at. And for a few blissful moments, I allow myself to pretend we could be one, that you’d take me to heaven and love me forever. But then your mouth parts from mine and reality crushes down on me like a ton of bricks.

I scramble away, tripping over myself as I do it, tears still falling unbidden down my cheeks and I stare at you from my tangled position on the floor. You look lost… lost and so very hurt. Your hand lifts toward me and then falls to your lap as you bow your head in that manner that tells me you’re trying hard to shove your own emotions deep down inside you. Before I can contemplate why I’m doing it I’m in front of you again, shaking your shoulders. “No! Don’t! Please don’t!”

Your eyes turn up toward mine and you look at me so confused. “Don’t what?” you ask me quietly.

“Don’t push it down like that. Don’t make my mistake, Die. Please don’t.”

You look away from me for a moment. Just as the silence is getting too much for me, something that is becoming all-consuming, you speak again. “Tell me… what was that? I want the truth… all of it. Not this half-truth while you hide the reality of it.”

My hands are shaking and I have no idea where to start. Instead I stand up and stuff my hands into my pockets. I walk to the window and I tear away the black fabric I’ve put over it all these years. Staring out into the rain-slick street, I finally murmur, “Yarusenai.” It’s one word and it’s so very powerful. It hangs in the air, almost tangible until I’m ready to say more. One hand moves to the window and I shake my head a little. “Setsunai.” I let that hang for a moment as well before I turn back to him and strip myself emotionally naked before him. “Have you ever regretted something so much that it completely consumes you, Die?”

He studies me for a moment and then nods. “Hasn’t everyone?”

I don’t look away, I hardly even blink. “Yes. But most people deal with it. They put it in a deep dark corner and save it for when that memory hits. But me… I find myself completely absorbed by it. The regret is so strong I can’t even pull myself free of it no matter how hard I try. I live it. I breathe it. I _am_ my own pain and my own grief.”

That said, I finally turn my gaze away, the pain I see reflected so clearly in his eyes too much for me. “When everyone left me like that… I… I thought I was okay. You were the last and even then I deluded myself into thinking eventually I’d be okay. But the truth is… even if everyone had come back except you, I would have still been just like this.” The words slip freely from my lips and I can’t believe I’m baring my soul to him like this… so easily I could be telling him to pick up flour from the grocery store. “You and I… everything between us mattered more to me. I…” I trail off, finding the one thing that’s hard to say to him, the one thing I regret not having said to him that I desperately need to. Closing my eyes, I feel the shivers start to pour through my body and I whisper out, “I love you, Die. I’ve loved you for longer than I can remember.” I shake my head. “But you’ve never loved me. Yes, you always stuck by me, you were always my company and many times my sanity. But you’ve never loved me the way I love you.” It’s a tall order, the words striking in a way I know could wound any man and yet I can’t keep myself from saying them. My hand goes back to the glass and my eyes back to the street. “No one could ever love me the way I love you.” These words I whisper, wishing them not to be true and yet knowing they are, even as I speak them.

I’m too lost in my own world to hear you come up behind me and when you pull me from the window and turn me in your arms, I don’t have any idea what to do except stare up at you in complete shock. You look almost angry with me and when you shake me ever so slightly I know you are. “Don’t you ever presume to tell me what I can and cannot feel, Kyo. You hear me? Not ever again.” Your voice is deadly calm, your eyes holding a fire I know better than to mess with. “I will feel what I feel and you can’t change that.”

I let out a shocked little cry as your mouth descends on my own and you press me against the window. Our entire bodies touch and while you’re forceful, you’re somehow tender. Even in showing me I can’t control you, you tell me in the same action that in some way, I do. By the time we pull apart, my heart is pounding and I don’t dare move an inch, your mouth just hovering over my own, our breath mingling in the air. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” And with those words, I feel myself melt into something that could very well be called hope.

“Don’t tell me that,” I whisper, unsure why, but knowing I can’t take much more without breaking all over again.

But your voice comes again, whispering the same words and I know I can’t stop you from telling me the truth, any more than you can stop me from loving you. Your lips press another kiss to mine and then you breathe one word into my ear before you let me go. “Taisetsu.” Precious. To you… I am precious.

And this time, as I leave this room, I find that I am no longer waiting. I no longer ache for what I cannot have. Now I ache for the future, for what I could have if I play my cards in the right way. And this time when I would have usually cried, I smile. _Nozomi:_ hope.

**To be continued…**  



	3. Yarusenai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is cruel. Fate is worse. And death is reprieve.

You’ve always been strong… stronger than me in a great many ways. It’s a part of what has always attracted me to you and it’s a part of what made me love you the way I do.

And now, sitting here beside you, your hand clasping mine as we stare mindlessly at the television in front of us, I find that I love your gentleness as well. Your almost delicate fingers twined with mine, your palms smooth and even your scent reminds me of the memories that don’t seem to hurt me as much now that you’re here. There are still a few that sting with something that will never be eased, but with most of them I can just look over at you and smile when they strike me.

Tonight though, the memories have been blissfully free of pain. Just new memories like this one, the times I sat beside you after a show, smelling what is so distinctly you that no one else could ever fill that place within me. The scent that late in the nights on the bus would make me take myself in hand and work off the desire to hold you in my arms and have you in ways incredibly improper to how we were back then. Even as I feel my body start to react to these memories - to the scent you’re intoxicating me with right now - I find that this time, I don’t mind so much. This time I’m not scrambling to cover it like I have been these long few months.

When you shift closer to me, crossing your legs in the opposite direction, your hip pressing against mine and your leg alongside my own, I don’t shift away. Instead, I move ever so slightly closer to you, daring to lean on you, my hand refusing to let go of yours. Tonight, I have chosen to torture myself with your presence in a manner that’s surely more pleasant than what I once did.

You laugh softly at something in the movie and I find myself staring at your face, studying your features from this angle. There’s this subtle crease beside your eyes now, one built from the years of being you and forming your very own facial expressions. Two lines are drawn across the skin between your eyes, showing you never stopped glowering at people when you’re angry, that your brows always continued to knit together. These are the things I take in… the changes to the images left in my mind from years before.

My heart beats rapidly in my chest as my eyes move to your mouth, studying the plump pinkish flesh, the gorgeous bow of your mouth. The memory of your kiss skitters across my own lips, causing me to lift my free hand to touch my mouth. It’s almost sad that I’m like a teenager in my reactions, relegated back to virginal youth simply because of the lack of touches I’ve had in the past few, achingly long years. But I’m so hard my jeans are providing me with an awkward sort of pain. I shift a little to try to alleviate it, bringing me closer still to you. Heat coils low in my stomach and before I can even stop myself, my hand has left my lips and moved to your cheek, turning your head toward me.

You study me with something close to expectation, freely ignoring one of the best parts of the movie in favor of watching me. When I don’t move any more than that, you turn to face me just a fraction more and then settle again, watching me silently. We haven’t really discussed what happened that first night you walked back into my life. If anything, we’ve left it in the dust behind us. But it’s clear we can’t forget, that maybe somewhere you expect me to freak out on you again and do as I did that night.

A shudder rushes through my body and I lean in toward you, my pulse fluttering heavily in my veins. “Die,” I whisper out, uncertain why I’m saying your name except maybe that I’m asking for permission.

Your hand comes to push into my hair, gently combing through the locks in such a soothing manner that all I can imagine is how you’d feel touching my dick instead. It’s wrong… so very wrong, but it’s also just how I can’t stop reacting to you. And in that moment, I realize I have to give in. I shift until my lips touch yours, gently caressing. A soft moan slips from your lips and I find myself climbing into your lap before I can even remotely stop myself. I settle there, the warmth of your body seeping into my own and relaxing me. My hands slip into your hair, holding you there as I plunder the depth of your mouth with my tongue, tasting what is so very much you and relishing every single second of it.

You simply hold me close to you, responding to what I do as I do it, your tongue dancing a slow battle with my own, your hips shifting up as mine press down. What was supposed to be a simple kiss to allow myself a moment with you turns into something I couldn’t have even dreamed of. Before long, I can feel that you’re in the same state as me, your dick hard, pressing against the front of your jeans as urgently as my own has been this entire time.

I don’t bother trying to stop myself as my hands slide down your body, stopping to lightly brush over the peaks of your nipples. I reach my destination, my palm pressing over the intense heat of your arousal and rubbing until you’ve broken the kiss and tilted your head back, panting, your hips arched toward me. I take it as a signal to continue, unfastening your belt and then opening your pants. My fingers slip inside to touch you through the thin material of your underwear just because I want that one last moment before I do as I know I cannot stop myself from doing. With a groan built of long-suppressed desire, I finally allow myself to slip my fingers into your boxer briefs and grasp the heat of your arousal full-on.

Your hips jerk in response and before I know it, I have you free and I’m watching myself as I stroke you. You’re gorgeous, even here where some men are not, you’re just as gorgeous as the rest of you. The dip of your hips accentuates what lies between them, your dick jutting out from your body in pure desire, impossible to misread. You’ve trimmed the neat little thatch of hair around the base of your cock and below that lay your balls, already tight with your need, warm in my palm as I roll them, causing you to let out the most breathy of sighs, your hips straining upward as I caress you. This is not the reaction of a man just accepting a sexual act. No… this is the reaction of a man who has desired this particular act for a long time.

I shift forward, my hand wrapping around your shaft and starting to stroke slowly, my lips at your ear. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this.” You don’t even hesitate to tell me these words, not even a second between me telling you to and you doing it.

“Tell me you want _me_.” This time I accept rejection. I’ve opened myself up for the raw truth of a man in the throes of passion and I know it could hurt me like nothing else.

But your hand curls in my hair, yanks my head back and your almost-black eyes bore into my very soul. “I’ve always wanted you, Kyo.”

The words render me speechless for a long moment, the only sounds in the room that of my hand upon your dick and your now-hard breathing. Finally my own joins in again and I find it in me to take your free hand, placing it over my own belt. “Then show me.” I’m desperate too. You have to know this, have to feel and see how hard I am and how much I need you to show me your attentions.

Your hands shake a bit as you remove my belt and then open my pants, finding I’m not wearing any underwear at all, my cock falling heavy against your belly as you free it. It twitches and leaves a tiny smear of shimmering clear liquid behind. It’s all I can do not to start humping you like a rabid dog, taking what I need from your body without waiting to see how you’d play it out. My hips jerk once and I have to hold my breath, my body going rigid to stop my movements, trembling from the effort.

“Let it go, Kyo… you’ve held back for so many years, let this be your release.”

Your words spark something in me and before I can register what I’m doing, I’ve pushed your shirt up and yanked it over your head, my own following. I’m too impatient to get rid of our pants. My lips find your neck, sucking at the junction of collarbone and delicate flesh as I start to rock against you, my dick brushing over your own. I imagine all the times I thought of our first time, all the hours I spent frantically jerking myself off to the images of you or of me finally having had enough and slamming you against a wall and taking what I wanted. Not once did I find it to be like this. And yet… this is perfect… beyond perfection. I feel more alive right now than I have in years and the longer I move against you, the more and more I feel like I’m healing inside.

The pretense of this being about sex falls away and I’m left with the raw knowledge that I need this for a whole other reason. I need to know I’m alive. I need to know you care about me enough to give me something like this. And I need to know I can give you something in return. My body moves on reflex alone and even when you finally cannot stand it any longer and stop me long enough to get our pants off, I find myself still floating on that cloud of healing. As you press me to the soft leather and claim my mouth as your own, I realize that I’ve become a man again and not the frail, broken boy you found late that night.

As your warmth covers me, I find that I’m taken in by it, wrapping my legs around you and allowing you access to my very soul in these moments. You whisper words of adoration and healing into my ear as our warmth combines into one and I shower you with the gift of my emotions being bared completely to you. The culmination of our act is looming over us by the time I realize that I’m giving myself to you here and that you’re accepting without hesitation. I’ve handed you my heart and you’ve handed me your own. And when I look in your eyes, I know it to be the truth. Even as you slip your hand between us, wrapping your long fingers around both of us and helping us over that edge, I can see it written right there that you love me with all that you are.

When I cum, I feel as though I’m sealing our unspoken pact on my end. You milk me dry only to thrust against my softening cock a few more times and then still, spilling yourself over me in such a purposeful manner I know it’s what you’ve dreamt of without even asking. Together we move a few more times, combining with one another in the most complete of manners. At long last, you sag over me and your lips find my own, gently caressing.

We curl up on the couch together, both of us fitting side-by-side, facing one another in the silence of the room, the movie long since over and done with. And when you smile, my heart melts, a smile of my own slipping over my lips. “I love you,” I tell you in the most sincere of manners. And when you return those words, I know that my own personal hell is over and done with, a relic of the past. _Enjuku_ : perfection.

**The End**  



End file.
